Her genes resounded with familiarity.  It was only a tarmac and only a bus ride, but the air was different here.  And the people…
She had met Greeks in the US,—even been in rooms full of them—but there was something different about stepping down into a country full of them—just as he said there would be.
“Greeks are more laid back…not overconcerned with rules…not full of repression…” he had said all these things before.  But it was clear now, in a country full of them, run by them, exactly what he meant.”
The bus driver, like many in big cities, was detached, but not in a cold way.  Aloof, not detached.  Not unhappy…care free.  And…everyone else seemed to be too.
There were families traveling together.  Old widows with children and grandchildren, tourists.  But the Greeks looked happier…even if they were travel-worn or jet-lagged or otherwise slightly annoyed, (like if they were cut in line as observed here or there) they were happier than the tourists…the tourists…the people who had gone out of their way to come to Greece.  Interesting…
Next stop, baggage claim, the Ano Liosia bus station.
A bus station in Greece in the summer is a unique place, especially for a middle-class American.  Let’s clear a few things up.  First of all, there’s no air conditioning.  This isn’t necessarily impossible to experience at a bus station in America, but then again, middle class folks don’t often ride the bus in America, especially not town-to-town, especially not as adults.  What else?…again, it’s loud.  Because, again, people occasionally get mad at other and, in Greece, they just don’t have the same rules about being quiet in public.  There’s no shame in it. It’s not for poor people or people with no manners, or whatever British high-society dictated to the American people.  It’s just the public square…everywhere.
So, there’s the bus station.  And where there’s a bus station, there’s snack food.  Greek snack food.
“Ena espresso fredo granita, parakalo.”  He orders with facility, she with hesitation.  “To idio gia mena,” she says, and he gives her a look, obviously attracted.  Two blended ice chocolate milks arrive a minute later.  She sipped hers.  “Mmmmm…wasn’t expecting that…”  “Why not?” he said, looking serious.
They boarded the bus.  It was a typical intercity bus.  She was a bit sleepy, though excited.  They took their seats.  Pffffffff…. The brakes disengaged and the suspension and steering were activated and put to the ultimate proof of might—a drive out of Athens.  She didn’t love winding drives.  She did love unfamiliar places.  And her boo.  And that was enough to make up the difference.  She leaned on him, nauseous.  He rubbed her shoulders and head and in the shortest hour you’ve ever seen, they were out of Athens.
Wow.
The countryside.
Something of a golden desert, rocky and punctuated by olive trees here, covered by wheat there.  Little villages with definite bounds—not sprawl—nothing like it.  Everything was different in this landscape—the colors—the way space was arranged and used—the way the Artist, or artists, painted—the Creator on the one hand and the stewards on the other.  There was something so peaceful about this land.  It was barren—just barren enough.  There were miles that looked like no one occupied it, yet it was just cared for enough—just lived on.  It was poorer land, but that was good thing.  Less for greedy men to exploit and perhaps more room to occupy one’s mind or one’s heart with something…better…
And yet it had been occupied for thousands of years.  Was that why it looked so tired, so lazy?  It wasn’t tired or lazy, it was content.
This place was so unassuming.  It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, yet people didn’t seem to know it.  They were happy, yet they weren’t running around snapping pictures of it.  And there was some litter. But perhaps that added to the “We don’t care.  We’re not in a hurry,” charm.
How much is too much care for a place?  How is land hallowed or blessed by people before it?  Good people.  Or even just people struggling—people trying.  Had God visited this land early or more often?  Logic said no.  The heart said yes.
Fields of wheat grow up with water, fields of grace with tears, mansions in the Kingdom wrought with righteous toil through the years.  She wrote in her notebook words she was sure had written before.  That was the way the truth worked.  It wasn’t about discovering it—per se—but discovering it in one’s life and proclaiming it again so that it resounds throughout the ages.  But, as it written, “the rocks will cry out,” that seemed to be what was going on in Greece.  The rocks were crying out, not that there was a shortage of holy people.  That’s how the saying worked—that the Creator will not leave his creatures wanting, without a witness in times of spiritual decline; but the converse seemed to hold true—that holy people sanctified the rocks—that they reinforced each other.  Holy people make holy places and holy places make holy people—not on their own, for sure, since what is a holy place after all, besides a place where God dwells?  And what makes a place holy?  Or a person?  Holy (Agion in Greek) means “set apart.”  This seemed to be the secret.  This land was set apart.  Set apart from use.  Set apart from her judgement.  From pre-conceived notions.  From his own sins—since, after all, we can desecrate a place just as much as we can sanctify it, and usually more quickly.
The mystery of place.
A place determines our start in life.  And the criteria by which we are judged—both now, but of the only significance, in the hereafter.  But a place can also jump-start a person spiritually.  Even if certain places like this one, seemed to have a spiritual head-start, it was clear now that a place could feed a person spiritually and that the excitement of a new place lay first and foremost in the temporary escape from oneself—until oneself arrives and sets up camp.  And how to take advantage of this transitional period?  How to ride the novelty before it wears off?  These thoughts occupied her mind, which conventions of happiness dictated should have been quiet and at ease—not that it wasn’t—she just thought about these things.
Be present.  That’s how you’ll enjoy this place.
She arrived prepared to take pictures.  Prepared to vlog and blog, but the reality that met her was exactly the sort of thing she went looking for when watching others’ vlogs and reading others’ blogs…elsewhere.